


raindrops on her eyelashes

by maureenbrown



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Pre-Femslash, Rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 18:28:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7725103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maureenbrown/pseuds/maureenbrown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clary’s always hated rainy days. She hates every single drop of water that cascades from the sky, whether it be a small drizzle or an overpowering downpour. She finds, however, that unscheduled showers are the worst.</p><p>Clary pulls her dark hood up over her head, as if it would provide much shelter. She’s soaked to the bone, her clothes clinging to her body. She looks like a feral cat, shoulders pulled up to her ears as she shivers. Even her boots are filled to the brim with droplets, and the rhythmic, undying patters of the rain are only muted by the shivering noises and clattering of her teeth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	raindrops on her eyelashes

**Author's Note:**

> man this took me Forever  
> my tumblr is @newtslizzy !!

Clary’s always hated rainy days. She hates every single drop of water that cascades from the sky, whether it be a small drizzle or an overpowering downpour. She finds, however, that unscheduled showers are the worst.

Clary pulls her dark hood up over her head, as if it would provide much shelter. She’s soaked to the bone, her clothes clinging to her body. She looks like a feral cat, shoulders pulled up to her ears as she shivers. Even her boots are filled to the brim with droplets, and the rhythmic, undying patters of the rain are only muted by the shivering noises and clattering of her teeth.  
Her house is a few more minutes from here. Clary melts at the thought of warm, dry blankets and hot cocoa clutched between her no longer twitching hands, clenched around the sopping fabric of her thin sweatshirt. Comfort can’t come quick enough.

Clary closes her eyes for only a moment, imagining the old re-runs of Harry Potter playing on the television set, and how amazing the popcorn will taste once she’s made it. She can hardly remember why she went out in the first place, or why she missed the bus. Maybe she’ll watch The Wizard of Oz for the sake of being home.

Clary’s foot catches in one of the cracks of the sidewalk, and she opens her eyes just in time to see the ground launch toward her line of vision, a massive puddle headed right in her direction. Her hands hit the water before her chest does, and she wishes she was as uncomfortable as she thought she had been moments ago.

She sits up, sure sludge has made its way onto her face and possibly in her hair. Judging by the dirt coating her hands, she landed in someone’s garden. Her vision swims, and Clary’s not sure it’s because of the intense waves of liquid crashing down on her. Did she hit her head? She should’ve paid better attention.

There’s a pair of hands on her shoulders, hauling her up with strength that guides her to her feet, then a comforting and guiding side to lean on. Clary glances up, a hazy version of a short, African American girl with black curly hair in front of her, her lips adorably pursed in puzzlement.

“Let’s get you inside.” The girl says, her voice soft but powerful in Clary’s ears, and she numbly nods as she stumbles back into the strangers abode.

... 

There’s a warm washcloth pressed against her forehead and the faint sound of television static makes its way into Clary’s senses. She sits up carefully, only to smack her already pounding head against her saviors, the other girl letting out a hiss between her teeth out of sheer pain.

“Shit! Sorry, I…” Clary trails off, blinking a couple times. Wow, she’s even prettier up close. “Sorry.” She finishes successfully.

She rubs her own head, right underneath the crown of her head. “Don’t mention it. I’m Maureen Brown. You kind of… Passed out in front of my house.”

Clary, truth be told, has done this in front of cute girls before. Right now, however, she feels especially embarrassed. She runs a hand through her matted hair, pushing it out of her eyes. “Again, didn’t really mean to. I’m sorry. Thanks for helping me.”

Maureen lifts a hand, waving it passively and dismissing her gratitude, just as if she picks up disgruntled girls in the rain every other Tuesday. “Honestly, it was no trouble. How’re you feeling?”

“Honestly?” Clary asks, scrunching her nose up and sighing. “Kinda terrible.”

“You hungry?” Maureen asks, already beginning to stand up.

Clary starts to protest; first she nearly dies in front of her and now she has the gall to request food? Never! Her stomach grumbles its word, and Maureen’s mind has been made up.

“Yeah, you are. Don’t even try bothering to tell me otherwise.” Maureen says, her lips curling up into an infectious grin.

Clary lets out a soft, bashful laugh. “You got me. Thanks, Maureen.”

Maureen’s expression brightens impossibly more when her name is said, and there’s a skip in her step as she whisks herself off to the kitchen. Between sounds of a pan being slapped onto a lit stove, she yells, “there’s a channel changer on the table!” out to Clary, who calls out an affirming noise in return.

Maureen doesn’t take long, and judging by the smells that follow soon after—mostly tomato and chicken, but some basil or parsley—her cooking is much better than Isabelle’s. She comes out with a cup full of steaming soup balanced cautiously on a platter, and she sets it down on top of a blanket with a spoon. Her eyes switch over to the TV, and her nose scrunches up as she snorts. “What’re you watching?”

“I think it’s Steven Universe.” Clary answers, paying rapt attention to the program overall but glancing over at Maureen and picking up the meal when it’s directed to.

“I didn’t even know I got that channel.” Maureen muses, but snuggles closer into the couch, her warm arm pressed against Clary’s slightly damp one without complaint as she slurps her soup.

Just as Clary suspected, Maureen was quickly wooed by the enchanting and relatable characters. Her head falls onto Clary’s shoulder halfway through the third episode (they all pass quickly), and the redhead’s eyes widen as she glances down at her.

Maureen meets Clary’s eyes during the commercial break, which is just white noise. Her smile is blinding and deafening, her eyes sparkling for a girl she just met who passed out in the rain.

“Can I give you my number?” Clary manages to ask, her voice hushed and nearly drowned out by their boisterous surroundings.

“Of course you can. Who’s going to stop you from dropping dead every time the weather gets bad?” Maureen responds sarcastically, though her tone is as gentle as it was since the moment they met.

Clary manages to get out a flustered snort. She’s pretty sure she’s swooning.


End file.
